***WARNING!*** This story is a work of Fan Fiction. Although weeks of research went into the preparation, creative liberties have been taken for the good of the story. Middle Earth is as Tolkien vision however some other things have been changed. I would consider these minor changes, yet in the past many readers have rushed to point out these differences with disatisfaction.

This is why I am reinstating this warning. I beg readers to please accept any 'inaccuracies' as intentional.

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*Authors Note: This first 'Chapter' is more of an exposition, an introduction before the beginning of the story – hence the shorter length. Current story length (approx) 250,000 words.

** Sindarin translations provided by Dreamingfifi at Realelvish- please support!

***I did not have a beta reader at this point so apologies for any errors. This was started but in 2015 and I do have intentions of coming back to revisit these early chapters for a full overhaul.

****Obligatory Declaration: I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.

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"Gimli, what about you? Do you have a wife waiting for you?" Pippin asked the Dwarf.

The fellowship had been marching their way towards Mordor for over two weeks, always the towering ranges of the Misty Mountains their constant companion to the left. The minimal danger of their location afforded them the luxury of much conversation during the day, but ever so much more during the early evening as they sat together around a warm fire to eat their evening meal.

This evening was no different.

"Indeed, I do not," Gimli chuckled from his belly. "There are far too many beauties in my land to settle for just the one," he said gaily, his voice full of good mirth and a wink.

Pippin joined in Gimli's chuckle, "Well, as I say, that is just as well. We all free from the oaths of matrimony and therefore at liberty to embark on this fellowship without fear of leaving behind a grieving widow."

Pippin was please at the many nods of agreement. That was until Aragon gently cleared his throat, "Not all, Pippin."

"Not all?" he asked Aragorn, very much surprised. "Oh! I did not know you were married?"

"Not I," Aragon gave a slight shake of his head then shifted his eyes to stare directly behind Pippin's shoulder, "Legolas is married."

"You are married, Master Legolas?" Pippin inquired, having twisted himself awkwardly around to face the elf.

Legolas's good natured features, so often to be found stern or aloof, softened noticeably, "Indeed, I am."

"But," he tried to work his tongue around his surprise, "but you have never spoken of it."

Legolas's lip twitched in amusement, "Nor have you asked."

Pippin smiled coyly, for it was true; up until now he'd felt unsure about speaking directly to the often aloof Woodland prince. Yet the reason was not that Pippin was afraid, more so he felt an ancient elf would find conversation with hobbits dull and uninteresting.

Now, however, Pippin found his curiosity overshadowed his nervousness and prodded for more information with a smile, "I bet you've been married longer than all the years we have lived combined." He smiled and gestured to the wizard, "Well, maybe except for Gandalf."

Legolas smiled kindly, but the smile did not reach his eyes. "Alas, no. Our union was made only briefly before I was called to Imladris."

"Briefly? For an elf do you mean? Perhaps decades?" Pippin asked teasingly, his courage coming along in leaps and bounds.

Legolas's fine features dropped ever so slightly as he said breathily, "Nay, not even a week had passed when the messenger arrived and I was called away."

"Not even a week?" asked Sam. "Blimey, sir! That must be quite the hardship for you."

Legolas's eyes remained staring into nothingness as he spoke. "You can be sure, Master Gamgee, it is a formidable hardship; one that only increases with each passing day."

"What is she like?" asked Merry from Pippin's side, reaching over to take a sausage out of the fire. "She must be a beauty beyond measure, even for an elf."

Silver eyes focused back to the group and smiled at Merry, "She is undeniably beautiful. However she is no elf."

"Not an elf?!" exclaimed Merry. "What is she?" His surprise caused him to drop the stick and sausage back in the flames.

"Merry!" Gandalf reproached, glaring at the hobbit.

However Legolas merely laughed lightly, "Peace, Gandalf. I am sure Merry meant no offense." He looked back to Merry and Pippin, "She is called Eryndes, Eryndes of the Dúnedain."

Pippin gasped, "Like Aragorn?"

"A mortal?" Boromir asked doubtfully.

"Yes." Legolas leaned his shoulders back further to take up the support of the tree behind him.

Although many of the company could see the subdued withdrawal, it was completely lost on Pippin. "Aragorn told us stories of she-elves falling in love with mortals, but not one was of the opposite. What is she like? Without a doubt she must be something very special."

For a moment a shadow casted over Legolas. But at once his long figure shifted forward again, again permitting him to be a part of the group. "Tell me, Pippin, how would you succinctly account for someone who is a stranger to a friend, being careful to not incite frustration with a long-winded description? Where would you start?"

Pippin thought for a moment, "Well, if I were to describe Merry, I would begin by saying that my friend is handsome, but not more so than I," he laughed. "He is funny, loyal, brave, and has a terrible talent for leading us into trouble." Pippin ignored the snort of outrage Merry levelled at him and nodded. "Establishing the stoutest qualities of character are most important, the qualities that burst into your mind at the mere thought of the person in question."

Legolas smiled with a nod and took a good moment before answering. "Then I would begin by saying my wife is as vibrant as she is beautiful, the kindest of souls," he paused to smile at his own joke, "and unquestionably foolish."

Aragorn chucked loudly, "And fortunate not here amongst us to take offence."

"Foolish?" Gimli scoffed even louder, "What kind of husband calls his wife foolish?"

Legolas gave a small shrug but did not look towards the dwarf, "There is no doubting the truth of it."

"How is she foolish? Do you mean to say she is a little simple?" asked Frodo, speaking for the first time since they had stopped their gruelling march and made camp.

"In many ways foolish, Master Hobbit, but in no way simpleminded. Indeed she is very clever. Yet it is often her cleverness and compassion, her inability to bear the suffering of others, which usually results in an ill conceived or foolish words or actions."

"Then she has a good heart," Boromir grinned at him for what must have been the first time. Legolas found the man held very little regard for elves upon his arrival at Imladris, and had shown no kindness until now.

"The very best of hearts," piped in Aragorn and waited for Legolas's nod before Aragon continued, "See Pippin, the majority the women of the Dúnedain are well known as skilful warriors and hunters. We have adapted this way since the sinking of Númenor and then the destruction of the Northern Kingdom. Now many of our rangers are women." Aragorn paused to chuckle, "However, there are some who choose a more learned style of life, as was the case with Eryndes's mother. Her choice was books, music and the arts of healing, forsaking blades and bows to the domain of mindless brutes. Dutifully, Eryndes followed her mother's example."

"Mindless brutes?" Boromir scoffed callously, "Maybe in the north."

"I never met her mother," Legolas said softly, "but I do know when her husband and only son fell in battle, she swore to protect her daughter from the same fate."

"Well," Boromir inclined his head to Legolas, "I can understand that."

"However noble her intentions, I do not agree." Legolas smiled warmly at the memory, his eyes brightening in the fading light, "I myself endeavoured to school her in the basics of weaponry and self defence, but alas to this day she still fumbles to even nock an arrow." He laughed lightly, "or to not drop a blade on her foot."

"For how long have you instructed her?" Boromir asked with a chuckle.

"Eight months."

Many of the company sniggered, none so loud as Boromir, "Unlike elven folk, most women prefer gentler occupations than warfare."

Legolas shrugged, "So I have seen."

"Perhaps the problem with the teacher, not the student." Gimli grumbled.

Pippin grinned broadly at Gimli's teasing but after glancing back at Legolas, he dropped his grin. The dwarf and elf did not like each other and it was wise to remain silent and unmoving to their bickering; even when their slights were humorous.

"However," Aragorn said his voice taking a serious turn, "like all Dúnedain, Eryndes does not stand ideal when honour or duty calls, especially when others are in peril."

"There was an orc raid on a nearby homestead not long ago. The orcs brutally killed the farmer and his wife then stole away the young girl and my wife, who had instead of running away when she had the chance, remained to look for the two women." Legolas sighed, "What aid an apothecary could offer during a raid?"

Silence cut through the once merry discussion and drove on for many a moment. Finally Pippin swallowed and dared to ask, "What happened?"

"It took me two days to track down the raiding party, by which time the girl," he paused, "was already slain but not before merciless torment and torture. It took another two days of hard riding before we were again free from danger."

It was Gimli's voice that cut through the night, "A sad lesson to be learnt about the stubbornness of women."

"A brave woman," Boromir stated, his eyes daring Gimli to oppose him.

"She almost died during the ride home," Aragorn bit out with a glance of warning at Gimli.

Legolas nodded in agreement, "Yes. Soon after I had returned from slaughtering the orcs responsible, we wed." He frowned then, "though perhaps I myself was foolish to believe marriage alone would tame her reckless nature."

"But did you not say you had only been marriage less than a week?" Boromir asked, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Not even the powers of the elves could suppress the determination of women in less than a week."

Legolas chuckled lightly "I guess there is truth in that."

"And yet you left for this quest" Gimli growled, apparently still not finished in his desire to unsettle things.

"Yes, I did. Not by preference, mind, but because it was necessary," Legolas told him sternly. "When my people leave this land, a land I have loved since birth, I want to take with me the knowledge that we leave it to continue on without us in triumph, not darkness."

Gimli held Legolas's hard gaze.

"And if my wife were to declare her wish to remain in Middle Earth, how could I not fight to save it for her and for her people?"

In the end Gimli shrugged indifferently and returned to his food.

"It couldn't have been easy, to leave her so soon. She must've been angry," Sam mused aloud, perhaps knowingly diffusing the tension by his cheerful manner.

Legolas looked Sam, his eyes piercing, and then to the surprise of all, he gave an incredulous laugh with a great big smile.

After a blink in surprise, Sam joined in with a light chuckle and shook his head, "Yes, indeed she must have been very angry."

Pippin too laughed cheerily, but his curiosity was yet to be satisfied, "What does she look like? Fair hair and skin like you?"

Pippin's persistence on the topic of his wife appeared to amuse Legolas, "Many of the Dúnedain share their appearance. Dark hair and pale skin. Taller also, than the men from the south." Before Pippin could express his disapproval of Legolas's prevarication, he continued, "Eryndes is the same; dark hair, fair skin, taller than women of the south." He paused, his manner turning awkward, turning his gaze away from them, "And a smile warm enough to melt the heart of the coldest of souls." Quietly he then added, "though I may be guilty of being a little biased."

Pippin grinned, "I think every man has the right to think his wife beautiful."

"I am no man," came the reply.

Pippin bowed his head in capitulation, "Every elf has a right to think his wife beautiful."

Legolas inclined his head too with a smirk.

"What do you think, Aragorn?" Merry asked. "Is Legolas just being a dutiful husband?"

Aragorn shrugged, "I also may not be the most impartial of judges for I have watched Eryndes since the cradle. She is my sister, not by blood but by honour. However, I can say she is known and admired throughout the north."

"Known?" asked Boromir. "I do not recall hearing her name."

"The name 'Eryndes of the Dúnedain' is known well in the north. Her family descend from the time of Arnor, distinctly honoured in battle," Aragorn pointed out.

"I wasn't aware of any ancient Númenórean Lord's family in the north." Boromir said.

"That is because they are not lords," Legolas admitted evenly.

"Not lords?" Boromir's voice showed is disapproval.

Gimli scoffed loudly, "You're father, the great elf-king, allowed you to wed a mortal commoner?"

Legolas's glared at Gimli, but remained silent.

Gandalf grumbled from the side and added to the discussion, "Valour and honour are not only found in those of noble blood, Boromir."

"Isildur was travelling to the north when he was killed. It was said that he was to bestow lordship to the family." Aragorn cut in with a sigh, "Since that time the family has been held in high honour amongst the Dúnedain. It is unfortunate however to be still not considered nobility."

"But Master Legolas, you're the prince of the Woodland realm. Doesn't that make your wife a princess?" Sam asked in earnest. "Is she not a Lady now?"

"It does," Aragorn answered before Legolas. "However it does not repay the three thousand year old debt owed to her family."

"But can you not change that, bestow a lordship?" Merry asked Aragorn innocently, "You are the rightful king of men."

Aragorn looked down at his hands and sighed, "If it were possible, I would have done so many years ago."

Legolas smiled at his friend and shook his head gently but again remained silent.

"You must miss her terribly, Mister Legolas." Pippin's voice called out softly from the growing darkness. "I do hope you will be reunited soon."

The air grew heavy and it was a long moment before Pippin's well meaning condolences was answered. "Thank you, Master Pippin. That is too my hope."

"Do you think we can meet her? Would she want to meet us?" Merry asked softly, his voice becoming a touch sleepier than before.

"She would be greatly honoured to meet you, Master Merry."

The next day was bright and sunny, and the company were all in good spirits. Peregrin Took was seemingly the highest spirit of all, wearing beaming at the day with peace and contentment.

Seeing Legolas's tall form walking ahead, he smiled and quickened his pace to catch up. After last night's conversation, Pippin now felt the barrier had been lifted and could comfortably speak with the ancient one.

Legolas smiled down at him when he reached his side, "You seem to be in very good spirits today, Pippin."

"Who could bleak on a day like today?" he grinned, looking around the dramatic landscape, made brightly green by the abundance of warm sunlight.

Legolas nodded to him, "My heart is indeed lighter today."

"I have heard it can be helpful to talk, you know, unburden the heart," Pippin stared for a moment then breathed in to ask his question, "Will you tell me more about your wife?"

Legolas raised an eyebrow, "What is it you wish to know, my friend?"

Pippin smiled eagerly, "Will you tell me how you met? It must be a fine story."

Legolas considered that for a moment, "a fine story? Of that I am unsure, though I do recall it very fondly."

"If you tell it to me, then I can say if it is or isn't."

Chuckling lighting, he agreed, "Very well."

"What did you think when you first saw her?"

Legolas's brow furrowed slightly, "I did not think; my mind was already weightless and free with the light and life of that summer's day and I had not a thought to call my own."

Pippin's frown caused him to shrug and continue, "I was not myself, you see. Up until that day my life had been simple but harsh, never allowing myself to revel in happiness or contentment, moving from battle to battle, day to day. Then upon one day riding up north under the wondrous heat of a summer's day, I felt joyful. I cannot recall a time before that day where I had felt such lightness of spirit. Indeed my manner was so changed; I should have not known myself."

"What caused this joy?"

"I would think it the light and life brought forth by the sun and the simple freedom to be out riding amongst such an abundance of beauty." He chuckled, "or perhaps I was under the lure of a happy spell."

"And that is where you met her?"

Legolas paused and allowed himself to be swept up into the memory, "When my eyes fell upon her she was keeling in the grass and leaves, her dark hair made luminous by the bright sunlight, and the gentle song she sang floated in the soft breeze, sung whilst gathering apples and nuts from the ground. A new song started in my heart, strong and vibrate, the beat of it quickening my pulse and numbing my fingers. The melody spoke to me, bidding me to call out to her, to speak with her."

Pippin stared at him in wonder, "It was her song that called you to her? That you fell in love with?"

Legolas looked to the hobbit and shook his head, "It was not only her song that drew me to her but did give me enough cause to stop and seek a conversation. I did not I love her so abruptly either. Yet as I spoke with her something within me was captivated. She was," he smiled, "enchanting . . ."

It was a hot and sunny day. Sunlight streamed fiercely down upon the small hills and valleys, lighting up the tops of the forests, and filtering down to the ground below. The wind was fresh and fragrant, the smell of life basking in a glorious late summer's day.

A lone figure sat atop a magnificent young grey stallion as white as freshly fallen snow. The figure rode at a gentle walking pace, his lungs breathing in deeply the beautiful song of the late morning air. His cloth was of the finest make, in tones of the forest of his homeland. Long brown leather boots sat at ease in the stirrups, covering long legs up to the knee to be met by dark green trousers and suede jerkin. Peeking underneath, tapered by two brown leather bracers, was a fine tunic.

The shine of the tunic's silver matched the colour of the rider's eyes.

A dark cloak, normally carefully wrapped around the figure's long frame, was on this day pulled back to allow the passage of both light and air. On the figure's back strapped a bow, a quiver full of well crafted arrows, and two very gracefully decorated white handled blades.

The beauty of the day had bid the figure to abandon his wish for anonymity and bask in the glory of light and life. The cloak's hood, normally pulled far forward to ward off curious eyes, today was swept back to reveal a long mane of silky golden hair shimmering in the sun.

Most notably about the rider however was a pair of pointed ears.

The road had been deserted for six days now as the rider kept to his journey. The stony road had stopped its restless tight winding through forest and mountains, settling for gentle slopes and bends upon green plains, travelling along a great forest remained to the right and cleared grassland to the left.

This area was known by most as simply 'the north'. Indeed the area was in the north of Middle Earth but was also considered inhospitable by all those whom had chosen not to live there. It was a landscape greatly sculptured by thousands of years of unforgivable winters and flood waters supplied by rain and the mountains to the west. The north was known to be grasslands stretched over endless plains, gently hills, large untamed forests, torrent rivers, infinite sky, and icy cold nights. Even in summer the chill of night could turn water to ice.

However, for this day, the figure mused, the north could not have been more perfect. The warmth from the sun of his face, the scent of life in his nostrils and the sound of dozens of birds in the forest lulled the rider along the path. Late summer blooming wildflowers lined the top of the next crest as the stallion eased them slowly over towards them.

A recent gift from his father and proudly named Aglarebon, his mount was as contented as his master to gently glide them across the land, giving not the slightest hint for want of haste.

Once at the top, the road levelled out over a completely different landscape.

To the right, the forest did continue, however the left side lay a farm of fruit trees, nut trees, herbs and vegetables. The apple trees bore the last of the season's bounty and as the horse and rider gently passed by the trees, he wondered to himself the method involved in cultivating such a vivacious establishment.

Not that a warrior like himself cared for such things.

A small road ahead bled off the main road to a small cottage, built sturdy from wood and stone, and a small cascade of grey smoke escaping through the small chimney. Sneaky out from behind the cottage was a little animal barn and large wood stack. Well maintained gardens surrounded the cottage and even lead up the path to the road.

It was not until Aglarebon had almost reached the small path that the rider noticed a woman kneeling down beside one of the trees, picking up a few of the nuts that had fallen there. Beside her lay two baskets, one full of the day's best apples, and the other had more gatherings of herbs and nuts. The woman had not yet noticed them.

The rider considered continuing on his way without making his presence known. He had never been one for making idle small talk, particularly with those of other races.

Yet without reason he guided his horse to stop not far from the woman.

It was only then he heard the faint melody of her song, almost too soft for even his keen ears to pick up. The poignancy of the words so delicately sung held him in strange rapture; words speaking to him of despair and agony, yet the hopefulness of dreams.

He watched the woman as she continued to gather nuts, her song continuing, beautiful and wretched, and far too gloomy for the lightness of the day. He did not continue on his way though, choosing to remain as he was sitting on his calm mount, listening with his mind floating up above, not able to feeling anything but the brisk beating of his heart against his chest.

All too soon her song ended. For many moments he did not move, nor look away from the sight of her. What powers could a simple song possess?

Many moments passed until finally he decided. It was such a glorious day and he was in a good mood. Why not make pleasant conversation with one of the north's people? Something inside him was compelling him to speak to her.

The figure breathed in deeply and could almost believe he smelt the sweet tantalizing scent of the apples and woody nuts. Setting his features to a pleasant expression, he lightly called out to the woman in a friendly voice, "Good morning to you, mistress."

The woman's head shot up at once and her bright eyes keenly finding him, blinking at him for a good moment. Then at once she gathered her skirts and the two baskets and stood. Bowing her head smoothly she greeted him in return, "Good morning, my lord. May I be of assistance to you?"

Her voice was soft and her features very feminine, her dark hair a dazzling cascade down her back. Yet her question struck him as a little odd. "Assistance?"

The woman walked closer to where Aglarebon stood, "Forgive me if I am wrong, but I would assume you have lost your way."

That raised a well defined eyebrow, "Why would you assume so?"

"This road is seldom used by strangers," she explained, and then looked pointedly at him, "And never by elves, Sylvan," she paused, "nor Sindar. If it be your wish I would be honoured to help you find your way?"

There was something in her expression that made him smile, "None of my kind venture this way and yet you can deduce so much about me by just my appearance?"

Her expression was close to a smile, but to his regret, not as committed as his. "You are assuming the people of the North have never ventured south? Or cannot recognize the craftsmanship of cloth or weapons?" The woman centred her gaze upon his eyes, "Or the grey of one's bearing."

"Indeed, mistress," his smile grew pleasantly and he inclined his head to her, "I apologise for my false assumption."

"There is no need, my lord." The woman smiled finally, warm and kind. "You will find folk around here know well of the ways of the Eldar, and particularly hold those subjects of the great elf-king in the highest honour," she told him happily. "King Thranduil has been most generous to us as we are the 'watches of the north'."

The elf again raised an eyebrow. She was then indeed one of the Dúnedain he had been seeking, "Truly? Yet none from his realm venture this way."

Her slightly amused bearing did not falter, "There is no great value around here to arouse a strong enough interest worthy of the lengthy and perilous journey."

"I would not agree," he said dryly, his gaze settling easily into the brightness of her eyes, "As this day alone has brought forth much interest and beauty."

The small laugh she made was as pleasant as her manner, "Then I fear I must caution you, for all beauty in this land is fleeting. Winter comes all too swiftly and without mercy."

The elf sat back in his saddle, "Perhaps. Nonetheless, that alone should not dissuade one from admiring."

The woman smiled however timidly this time, "Very true, my lord." She breathed in deep, intentionally breaking their eye contact and gesturing to the road ahead of him, "My own assumption was also incorrect; you are not lost."

"I am not lost," he agreed. "I am looking for someone."

This caught her attention and her smile wavered marginally, "Someone? Around here?" Then her features softened again, "If it is perhaps trade that you seek, most folk around here produce only enough to keep them during the long winters. None would consider sparing any for trade, at least not this late in the season."

The elf held up his hand calmly, "Please, mistress, no. I am looking for a friend of mine. His name is Strider, a Ranger."

"Strider?" she asked cautiously, her body clearly tensing.

"Or you may know him as Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain," he said friendly, attempting to alleviate her sudden tension.

For a moment she studied him, her eyes looked down at his attire then back to his face. "You are not from Imladris," she stated carefully, but her posture had at least relaxed once more.

"You are correct, I am not from Imladris and I have indeed come from the Woodland Realm. I am friend to Aragorn, who bade me travel this far north to join him at the conclusion of my affairs in the south."

The woman gave a nod, "It has been two months since Aragorn's return. Unfortunately however, he has gone with a hunting party into the west for a few days now. I am not certain of the day of his return and may be a couple more days yet."

A couple days were of little concern to him. "Then I must be on the correct path," he said with an ever slight tease in his voice.

Though the woman's kind-hearted smile remained, she did not acknowledge his jest. "As friend to Aragorn, and indeed a subject of King Thranduil, you will be most welcome up at the main house, Carthal Manor. There you would be free to rest after your long journey and wait for Aragorn's return."

"I am obliged," he bowed his head. "It is far?"

"No, not far," she advised. "Half an hour's good gallop along this road and you will have arrived."

He smiled again, "Thank you. Tell me, what is Aragorn hunting? Deer?"

Instantly her face sobered, "No, my lord. Orcs."

"Orcs?"

She nodded, "They migrate constantly from the mountains to the east."

"The Mountains of Angmar?"

"And closer," she confirmed with a nod, "Every year they close in, and every year we drive them back." She looked at him apologetically, "I apologise; this is not a safe land." She paused with a question in her eyes, "Aragorn did not make mention of this?"

He shrugged, unless in large numbers, the presence of orcs was of little concern to him, "He did tell me there were dangers here." However, he frowned at her, something did not make sense, "and yet, here you are? Your husband does not believe it too dangerous?"

Immediately he saw words struck the woman and she recoiled with a step back. Her eyes narrowed slightly and her jaw clenched, "I am sure my husband would agree with you, if he did indeed exist. However, poor maids manage to remain stout and survive each day without husbands."

"Forgive me, mistress, I meant no offense," he said honestly. "Only perhaps a misplaced concern."

At once she relaxed at his words and a tint of red flooded her cheeks, "In that case I thank you for your concern. I am sorry for manner."

He studied her for a couple heartbeats, "A common misassumption?"

This earned him another pleasant smile and a small laugh. "Yes. One I fear I will always endure."

"I should have learnt from my last assumption," he smirked, and said wryly, "However the remedy may be very simple."

Her pleasant laughter was as infectious and her eyes lit up. "Marry?"

"A very simple solution," he granted, his tone boldly teasing.

The woman's smile, though sceptical, continued to light her eyes, "Perhaps not as simple as you may think."

He laughed openly, "Alas, not a topic I am well versed."

The woman's countenance became slightly awkward but then brightened, "It is not often a stranger of such a like ventures in these parts. May I offer a small gift?"

"Of course, you may," he agreed but with a raised eyebrow in slight suspicion, his jesting mood suddenly forgotten. Not only was he not well versed in matters of marriage, but also the customs of north. What gift did she intend? The manners of mortal women towards him and his kind often were found to be quite unwelcomingly suggestive, inappropriate and forward. He could go as far to say 'vulgar'.

Had his open manner provoked something similar in her?

However the woman simply smiled and taking an apple from the basket she placed it in front of Aglarebon's nose, "He is beautiful." She stroked his neck admiring as the horse took the apple enthusiastically, "Never before have I beheld a beauty to match."

The elf laughed heartedly; realising with quite some embarrassment that he had again completely misunderstood, "Careful, you will feed not only Aglarebon's belly but also his vanity and then he will be beyond all persuasion."

Aglarebon continued munching on his apple and pressed his face into her hands. Stroking his head, she leaned closer into him and whispered, "Te thand, pen vain? Ci bain athan ind? (Is that true, pretty one? Are you beautiful beyond sense?)"

Aglarebon pressed his head into her with affection at her words, and the elf's lips spread in a wide smile, "Pedil Edhellen, Heril? (You speak Sindarin, lady?)"

The woman looked back to him, her face dubious. "These are the lands of the Dúnedain," she proclaimed proudly, moving forward and held up another apple. "For your journey?"

Without hesitation he took the apple from her gratefully, his eyes not straying from hers, "Le fêl. (You are generous)." Then remembering his manners he reached into in coin purse, "He mabath- (Here please take-)"

Gracefully she stepped away from him, "It is but a small gift and gifts require no payment."

He dropped the coin back into the pouch in surprise for most mortals always seemed to be anxious to relieve him of coin. He held his hand to his shoulder, he bowed his head, "I am honoured by your generosity, my lady." Stowing the apple inside his tunic, he regathered Aglarebon's reins.

"You are welcome." she inclined her head, but quickly raised her eyes straight back to his, "however I must beg your pardon. I am no lady."

It was a moment before he responded, "Do you truly believe title alone bequeaths nobility?"

The woman stared compellingly into his eyes and told him with a quite yet firm conviction, "No, I do not."

He did not smile but purposely hold her gaze, "Nor do I."

Another tinge of blush caressed her cheeks, "You are kind, my lord." She hesitated, "May I press you for your name?"

He sighed; bitterness suddenly rose within him and threatened to sour his fine mood, "I am sorry for I have gladly left my name back in my homeland." Breathing in he gladly allowed his playfulness to resurface. "However if it so pleases you, you may name me as the wandering elf," he paused, once more staring deep into her bright eyes, "who stopped to admire the splendours of this fine day."

Her brow rose in surprise, her cheeks flushing once more from his words, "Are all your kind in the great wood so gifted with silver tongues?"

The elf laughed easily, "Not to my knowledge." He breathed in the warm air deeply and sighed, "Alas, I feel I must continue on my way." He bowed his head, "Farewell."

The women returned his bow, "Good day, my lord."

As Aglarebon walked on, the lone rider watched the woman out the corner of his eye as she too watched him in return. No longer able to wait, he pulled out the apple from his tunic and greedily took a huge bite, the crunch satisfying, and allowed the juicy sweetness join his already fair mood.

After another bite, he turned to glance back at the farm but much to his disappointment, the woman was nowhere in sight.

A strange conversation. Upon hearing her song, he supposed her to be cheerless and broken, and yet the opposite had been true, and found her a welcome addition to the beautiful day.

And for himself, musing thoughtfully as he chewed, he could only surmise his uncharacteristically playful and almost flirtatious behaviour had come from the warmth and light of the day, filling him with irrepressible joy and light-heartedness.

Aglarebon rumbled deep in his throat, causing his master to look down at his almost finished apple. After one final and large mouthful, all that remained was the core. Reaching down he held it to his friend, and spoke around a mouthful of apple, "Me ónen aint lêw, sîr. (We were given many gifts today)."

It truly was a fine day.